A/N: Sorry the delay with this one. I've been working on making Christmas gifts after work instead of writing, so this has kind of fallen to the wayside. I hope you enjoy and if you are in the US, happy Thanksgiving!

One Year Later

The jarring ring of the landline phone that sat on his desk pulled Rick's attention from counting ceiling tiles as a means of procrastination. He'd been blocked on his writing for nearly a year and was only able to complete his latest book, due for release in a few days' time, because his publisher ex-wife, Gina, babysat him for an entire week to ensure he was working. Needless to say, his latest book was lacking the spark that his previous best sellers had and he knew it was not even close to being his best work.

He may have woken up after the accident with only a broken ankle and a cut over his eye, but the hollowness he felt in his soul after discovering that his family was only a hyper-realistic dream he experienced while he laid on a sidewalk of New York City, destroyed him more than any idiot Prius driver could have done. He missed Kate. He missed Evie. He knew they weren't real, but they were tattooed in his heart regardless of his reality.

Some days, while he haunts his own home like a ghost in purgatory, he swears he sees a little girl with a mop of wild hair out of the corner of his eye. He'll turn quickly, hoping to catch the ephemeral spirit of a daughter he never had, but is hit with a pang of longing and despair when the hallway is empty. He shouldn't miss something that never was, but a year on, he struggled to live his present life.

Alexis and his mother noticed him change and wanted to believe that he was just coping with the trauma of being hit by a car, but after four months and no sign of the jovial father and son he once was, they insisted he seek therapy. He was reluctant at first, but seeing his daughter cry because she missed her dad and knowing the pain he saw in her eyes was his fault, had him making an appointment in a matter of days.

Rick peeked at the caller ID on the ringing phone—already knowing who it was and proving to be correct—before grabbing the receiver and acknowledging Gina on the other end.

"Richard, I need to discuss some details for Saturday's book launch."

Gina was only aware of Rick's minor injuries—the physical injuries—following his accident but was not keyed into the details of the emotional trauma he had been dealing with for the last year. Only his mother, daughter and therapist knew the extent of the imaginary life he lost, so it was of no surprise that Gina was not forgiving of what she believed was Rick procrastinating and refusing to work.

While Gina rattled off her expectations of him for the big event that weekend, Rick listened with as much attention as a puppy in a ball pit. He hummed as a response at the appropriate times, just wanting to get off the phone as quickly as possible so he can resume the important task of tile counting. Finally, after a laundry list of stipulations, Rick ended the call and returned his gaze to the ceiling until it was late enough in the day that he could start dinner for his family.

The night of the book launch, while Rick was supposed to be schmoozing with guests and talking about the book, he leaned with his back against the bar where his daughter sat reading her physics textbook, and surveyed the crowd and verbally lamented over the last year.

"I need something different in my life. How would you feel if I became a teacher? Or maybe I'll become a private investigator," he said to Alexis.

"I don't care what you do. I just want you to be happy."

Rick turned so he faced his daughter. "I'll always be happy being your dad, but for some reason that doesn't seem to pay well. You'd think raising a genius would be more profitable."

"Dad…"

"I don't know if writing is my passion anymore. I used to love these parties. Everyone talking about my work, feeling a sense of accomplishment, but now…I just want more."

"Richard Castle?" a feminine voice behind him said.

Rick turned with a forced but polite smile, anticipating the woman to be a fan, but he didn't expect to come face-to-face with a familiar, conservatively dressed woman holding up a detective's shield and who, despite wearing dark hues, shimmered with something he instantly craved.

His heart jumped to his throat and he managed to croak out, "Kate, it's you," at the same time she introduced herself as Detective Kate Beckett.

His wife, his Kate, stood in front of him for real. She was real. Her last name was different, but she was still Kate. He zoned out, focusing intently on her features and tried not to cry at the realization that his wife was real.

"What's me? How did you know my name?" Kate asked, pulling Rick out of his daze.

Rick's eyes widened and his mind raced to come up with a non-creepy answer. "Lucky guess…?"

Kate gave him a look before proceeding with her reason for being there. "I have a few questions about a murder that happened earlier tonight,"

"What? A murder? Who was killed?"

"Have you ever met Alison Tisdale?"

"It's possible, but she's not in my little black book if that's what you're asking."

"Would you be willing to come to the station with us to answer some questions we have regarding her murder?"

"I don't know how much I can help given I didn't know her, but yeah, I guess I can," Rick said. He'd go anywhere with Kate, to be honest. If she asked him to follow her so he could be thrown in a volcano as sacrifice, he'd do it because it was her.

Before he followed Kate and the other police officers she was with, he hunted down his mother who was in the middle of activating her gray-dar on some unsuspecting gentleman, so she could take Alexis home.

When he arrived at the police station, Kate left him in an interrogation room, giving him some time to come up with a back story if he said something to Kate that a stranger wouldn't say or know about her.

Kate returned and began the interrogation, but Rick had a hard time not staring because he still couldn't believe that his wife was sitting right in front of him.

"You didn't know Alison Tisdale, but what about Marvin Fisk? Small claims lawyer." Kate asked.

"No, I don't recognize that name either. What's this all got to do with me?"

"Fisk was murdered in his office two weeks ago. I didn't put it together until I saw the Tisdale crime scene tonight." Kate places a crime scene photo in front of him of a young woman, he assumed was Alison Tisdale.

At quick glance, he felt his heart jump because he recognized the crime scene. "Flowers for Your Grave."

Kate slid another photo toward him, "And this is how we found Marvin Fisk. Right out of Hell Hath No Fury."

"Looks like I have a fan."

"A really deranged fan."

"Oh, you don't look deranged to me," he teased.

"What?"

Rick looked up from the photo, "Hell Hath No Fury? Angry Wiccans out for blood? Come on, only hardcore Castle groupies read that one." He smirked. He knew she liked his books, well his Kate liked his books, but he was happy to find out this Kate did as well.

"Do any of these groupies ever write you letters? Disturbing letters?"

"All my fan mail is disturbing. It's an occupational hazard," Rick said while he continued to study the crime scene photos.

"Sometimes in cases like these, the killer attempts to…"

"The killer attempts to contact the subject of his obsession. I'm pretty well-versed in psychopathic methodologies. Another occupational hazard." He looked up to her and smiled. She looked back at him with the eyes he so fondly remembered from a year ago. Before he could stop himself, he said, "did you know you have gorgeous eyes?"

Kate glared at him. "So, I take it you wouldn't have any objections to us going through your mail?"

"Knock yourself out," Rick said. "You wouldn't happen to need help sorting through the mail, would you? Nobody would know more about the deranged and disturbing than I do."

"I'll let you know. Meanwhile, I think we're done here." Kate stood and exited the room.

Rick stayed sitting in his chair as he began devising a plan to become a permanent fixture in Kate's life.

The next day, Rick was at the 12th precinct bright and early to talk to Captain Roy Montgomery about helping with the Alison Tisdale case. While finishing up the tentative agreement he and the captain had compromised on, Kate appeared carrying boxes of Rick's fan mail. She spotted Rick and her face instantly became sour.

"Detective Beckett!" Captain Montgomery called out.

"Yes, sir?"

"Mr. Castle has offered to assist with the investigation. Considering the nature of the crime scenes, I think it's a good idea."

"Sir, can I talk to you for a moment, in private?" Kate said through clenched teeth.

Montgomery smirked and responded with "Nope," before turning on his heel back to his office.

Rick and Kate moved to a conference room with piles of fan mail covering the table between them. Rick was having a hard time focusing on the letters and kept looking over the sheet of paper to gaze at Kate. His heart felt light being in her presence. He hadn't felt that in so long and he wanted to hold on to it as long as possible.

"What?" Kate barked. Rick's staring wasn't as subtle as he thought.

"Nothing. It's just, the way your brow furrows when you're thinking. It's cute. It was always cute."

"What does that mean?"

Rick realized his slip up too late and stammered to come up with a response, "I just mean that I'm sure it's always been cute, that you've always been cute…"

"Why are you even here? Are you hoping for another notch in your bedpost?"

"No, of course not. You've never been a notch in my bedpost," Rick sets down the letter he has in his hand.

"Excuse me? You don't know me. We've never met before, so why are you talking like there is something more there?"

"I do know you, well maybe a version of you." Rick grimaced, realizing he was burying himself in a hole he kept digging deeper the more he spoke.

"Okay, I think I need you to leave."

"What?"

"I need you to leave."

At a loss for words, Rick silently stood from his chair and left. If he had any plans of trying to become involved in Kate's life, he was failing miserably at executing them.